I've signed a pledge,'ser 'e, 'agains the beer.
'D'ye see?'
Sez 'e.
'And wot I 'ope ter syve
Will tittervyte 'is bloomin' little gryve.'
Then--Well--yo' should 'ave 'eard us 'ow we cried--
Like bloomin' kids--the--night--the byby--died.

"That song," said Poppy, "doesn't exactly suit my style of beauty. You
should have heard Simpey sing it. _That_ 'd 'ave given you something to
'owl for."

For Rickman looked depressed.

The sound of Poppy's song waked the canary; he fluttered down from his
perch and stretched his wings, trailing them on the floor of his cage
to brush the sleep out of them.

"Did you ever see such affectation," said Poppy, "look at him,
striking attitudes up there, all by 'is little self!"

Poppy seemed to cling to the idea of the canary as a symbol of
propriety.

"Do you know, Rickets, it's past twelve o'clock?"

No, he didn't know. He had taken no count of time. But he knew that he
had drunk a great many little tumblers of champagne, and that his love
for Poppy seemed more than ever a supersensuous and immortal thing. He
pulled himself together in order to tell her so; but at that moment he